we've two in a paper crane
by doroniasobi
Summary: he's doing something; because he knows that she asked, even if words never left her lips. even if they would never again. — Aoshi, Misao


**A/N: First Rurouni Kenshin fic. I decided to rewatch a bit of it yesterday and well, this came to mind. :D It's funny though; I'd never really thought about writing fanfiction at all for Rurouni and this just_ came _to me. Oh, and also this is my thirtieth fic 8D Enjoy!**

* * *

He stands in a room that stinks of old soy sauce and dry sake. There are broken glass bottles swept away in the dank corner, shattered pieces still on the floor, edges sharp and piercing, giving off a fierce glare in the sun. A wooden box lying on its side is only a few feet away, the handle smooth and thin, beckoning, as though waiting for someone to pick it up—to reuse it again.

The room is damp; dark. Her body is splayed across the wooden floor boards, her dark hair sticking itself to the floor from the puddle of blood pooling around and soaking her clothes. Her eyes are still open, her fingers still twitching, her eyes shining with a brilliant, endless hope and a fondness that she only showed him.

He stares. There's a piece of crumpled paper in his hand.

He remembers.

* * *

"_Aoshi-sama! Will you fold a paper crane for me?"

* * *

_

He does. He always does. His eyes are soft, his hands dexterous. Slowly, he sits down. Begins to fold.

He doesn't know how long it's been. His hands are old, with creases and calluses and rough areas everywhere. The paper folds almost by itself. It's a little bit of a miracle. What is the point, really? She's gone. She's going to disappear. He can't do anything, and there is no such thing as revenge; he's learned that years ago. Never really quite understood it, however.

Pauses.

Maybe, if he crumples it right now, another miracle will appear. If he ruins just one, maybe another will appear.

It's ridiculous. Starts folding again.

* * *

"_No, that's not fair! Take me with you! I'll be good, I promise—I can do better than those other losers, anyway. Didn't you know, Aoshi-sama? I'm going to be a ninja! So it'll be good training for me! And it's probably more fun to be outside fighting bad guys instead of staying inside, right? Please?"_

_He sighs. She always makes things so difficult. So in the end, he settles for, "When you're older, maybe I'll consider it."_

"_I'm already eight! I think that's plenty old!"_

"_No."_

"_Aoshi-samaaa," she whines, grabbing at his arm._

_He doesn't respond. Just places his hand on her head for a brief moment, and walks out, the rest of the crew following._

"_You're gonna get it when you get back!" he can hear her yelling from the hold. But he doesn't care. Her eyes are of those that have seen nothing. The battlefield is the only place he won't be able to protect her. She wouldn't be anything but a nuisance._

_He can't protect her eyes without holding back. Aoshi doesn't hold back on a battlefield. He can't allow her to see what she shouldn't. So for now, he'll spoil her, because he doesn't want her to see his other self. He convinces himself that this is for her own good._

_Her smile is the last thing he remembers before he pushes open the gate.

* * *

_

Fold. Unfold. Now the other side. It's almost instinct; he could fold this without looking, without thinking, with his eyes blurred or with a blindfold on. The seconds pass; the silence is still, like notes of a chord hanging in the air by a string, trembling as they wait to fall.

Mountain fold. Fold, unfold. The corners are his square base.

It's almost perfect; none of the white is showing. She would have been happy, to receive a crane like this.

Fold the sides inward—leave the opening base at the bottom. Fold down the top, to the centre of the square. Then unfold. Flip it over and do the same thing. Seconds are passing. Now for the petal fold; take the bottom corner and line it up to the previous creases. Flip it over; do it again on the other side.

It's another base.

* * *

_She doesn't ask him to read him stories. She asks him to tell them._

"_Tell me again about that time when you fought against..." she pauses. "Wait, I don't remember him." Rolls over, head in her hands, lying on her stomach, swinging her legs back and forth. "Tell me about one of your earliest battles! With Hannya and everyone else!"_

_She usually doesn't ask for anything specific. Aoshi isn't sure he can remember all of them himself. Even if he doesn't, he pretends he does and tells her some long-winded story about him and the Onibawanshu. He _is_ the one in charge of her. Sometimes her requests don't just come at night; sometimes they come in the afternoon in the dry summer heat, or early in the morning in the garden, kicking pebbles around or mingling with whatever comes to._

"_Aoshi-sama," she says to him one day. "When will I be old enough to come with you? On journeys and stuff."_

_He has no answer to that._

"_Aoshi-sama?"  
_

"_Go to sleep," he tells her. She grumbles a bit, but does so. He just doesn't want to think about it.

* * *

_

Fold the sides back in. He leaves a space in the centre for the very best outcome. Reverse fold, and he's got the tail and the neck. Now—the head. Crease it gently at the top and angle it nicely. Inside reverse—fold it.

There are just the wings left. Aoshi looks over to the left, stares at Misao's battered body. He'd make it up to her for breaking his promise.

Last part—he takes the wings and, slowly, he pulls them apart. Between them, the back forms neatly, and he sits the finished crane in one hand, looking at it as though he'd never seen one before. He imagines her smile after he's completed it, and closes his eyes.

"_It's so pretty!" she gasps, cradling it in her hand with joy. "Will you teach me?"_

_He stares at her hands. They are smal and blunt, but he supposes she could learn. He wasn't planning on folding them forever for her. He grabbed a new sheet of paper._

"_Okay."_

_He almost smiles as she leans in eagerly to watch. Begins to fold.

* * *

_

He places it in her hair—it's matted with already-crusting blood, but it matters not. It's the last thing he's able to do for her, anyway—she's almost an adult. He'll always be able to see a child in her.

The glow in her eyes is fading; the last thing Aoshi does is grasp her hand and apologize for not being able to protect her as he'd promised, years ago. It's the very least he can do, because this time he wasn't here when he'd promised to always be.

But he doesn't; merely watches the paper crane sit, watches the paper absorb the blood on the floor. It hurts to think about how much time has passed.

"I folded a paper crane for you."

When her eyes are finally closed, there is a smile playing on her lips.

* * *

_Owari_

_2010.12.27_


End file.
